


Biology Lessons

by OffYourBird



Series: Oddments [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Humor, Porn With Plot, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/pseuds/OffYourBird
Summary: Spike helps further the Slayer education system... in more ways than one.If you haven't read the previous installment in this series, all you really need to know is that the amulet in Chosen used Spike's soul to power it... and used it up. Now - after coming back soulless from the amulet in AtS -  Spike is living with Buffy in Rome.





	Biology Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot about how to create some logic behind certain vampire facts in the Buffyverse and, viola, out came this (not so) little romp.

For not the first time, Spike contemplated how utterly wrapped around Buffy’s manicured and vicious little fingers he was. And sod it all, but she’d somehow wheedled him into helping with a training at the local Slayer academy.

Well, alright, so it wasn’t that much of a mystery how it happened.

Buffy had no more than stepped in the door of the flat last week (dropping her bag casually on the carpet, to Spike’s silent gritting of teeth. How many times did he ask her to hang up her accessories?) when she turned and gave him a mischievous, sidelong look.

He leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table, careful to shift his weight slightly to the left. The sorry device had never been quite the same since he’d bent Buffy over it the month before, and he’d learned the hard way that the back was no longer what you might call stable. The hard way being that he’d found himself sprawled on his arse in the middle of the linoleum, his wounded pride providing great company to the gales of Summers women’s laughter. Heartless little chits that they were.

Spike eyed his Slayer as she tugged off her academy ID tag next and tossed it on the side table. Well, at least that bit had made it onto an actual furniture surface.

Buffy’s self-proclaimed sabbatical had lasted less than a month. He found out later that the Bit and Andrew were taking bets on how long until she cracked (either by cracking his skull or going back to work, or both). It was no surprise for any of them to realize that he and Buffy weren’t made for sole togetherness in the day-to-day. He nearly murdered her over the way she flung her possessions about like an erratic whirlwind, and she about did him in over his constant need to change channels.

All in all, Buffy had apparently sussed out she’d committed herself to a neat freak (“What the hell, Spike? I know you were never this insane about your crypt!” “Was a crypt! Had a standard to keep to. In a flat, that’s just slipshod.” “Oh. My. God.”) and Spike realized that no amount of slaying kept Buffy from belting sodding Disney songs at the top of her lungs with Dawn and Andrew warbling as chorus. He thought his ears might bleed.

Buffy went back to work after twenty-three days. Andrew won the bet, although Dawn got a portion of the pot for correctly wagering that there’d be broken bones. Spike’s, of course.

“Good day, pet?”

“Fine.” Buffy's eyes were still appraising him and she started slowly unbuttoning her blouse as she made her way toward the kitchen, her stride heavy with seduction.

He settled his mug of blood on the table with amused firmness. “Want something, do you?”

“Hmm?” She stripped off her shirt and tossed it near him, leaving her in just a thin, white camisole that did absolutely nothing to hide the dark outlines of her tits. “What makes you think that?”

He sat coolly in his seat, ignoring the insistent surge from his prick as it swelled in his jeans.  _If you did all the thinking, mate, we’d be royally buggered_. He lifted a brow. “Wonder boy Watcher is home.”

Buffy snatched up her shirt with a mortified squeak, nearly ripping the fabric in her haste to get it back her around her. “Why didn’t you say that before?” she demanded, her face flushed with anger.

He grinned. Andrew was firmly entrenched in his nerdy bedroom, headphones on full tilt as he played some bloody stupid game. War something or other. The obsessed little tosser would probably play through a hurricane. But no need for Buffy to know that. “What? And miss out on that little display?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll get you for that.”

“Don’t believe I was the one trying to use my body to get something just now.”

“You do it all the time.”

He smirked at her. “No, pet, I use  _your_  body to do that.”

“Ugh.” But a smile twitched at the edges of her mouth. With a small huff, she collapsed into the chair next to him. Based on her wary expression, she was trying to figure out if it was the dangerous chair.

Spike picked up his mug again and took a long swallow, relishing the lukewarm mixture as it slid down his throat. Human blood, and unexpired. It didn’t hold a candle to Buffy’s blood, but it was still a gourmet experience after years of drinking hog swill. His hunting urges were a little harder to manage these days without a chip or soul to curb the demon’s lust, and he’d had to flee a few months back when a vamp victim they rescued had smelled a bit too enticing. Shot from the vicinity like a bat out of hell, as a matter of fact, fighting his ridges and the cold, clean voice that demanded he take what was so easily in reach.

Turned out him doing a runner had gained him another piece of Buffy’s heart. The day after, she dumped all the pig’s blood and he walked in to find the fridge full of human donation bags.

He’d just stared at first, not sure what he could say that wouldn’t put his foot right in it. “Nicked it from the hospital?”

Right, so he did the foot and mouth bit outstandingly.

But, luckily, Buffy just rolled her eyes. “Turns out there are people who knowingly sell their blood to demon shops. I guess it’s pretty lucrative, depending on blood type and stuff. Did you know that?”

He blinked at her, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Uh, yeah… Back in Sunnyhell, Willy got the O-neg on tap that way.”

“Really? Huh. Well, that’s actually better than how I used to guess he got it.”

Spike continued to eye the blood in the fridge. “So you… bought this?”

“Yep. Found a guy who knows a guy. It’s not too bad. Not too expensive, I mean.”

He shut the fridge and gave her a hard look. “Buffy. Why?”

Her return look was just as unyielding. “I don’t want any slip-ups. I know pig’s blood hasn’t been... satisfying, and you’ve said it never makes you feel full. I don’t…” She looked down at the table, sighing. “I don’t want it to be harder for you.”

Emotion had welled blisteringly in his throat, swollen and insistent, rendering all his half-formed words of gratitude entirely unusable. He’d settled for just kissing her fiercely.

Smiling at the memory, he finished the last of his mug and eyed the Slayer next to him. “So. What exactly was it you were trying to con me into, luv? Guessing it was something I wouldn’t want to do, or else you’d have asked outright.”

Buffy shrugged. “You know Maria?”

He squinted in thought. “Middle-aged, dark-haired bird? Bit portly? Annoyingly perky, like someone’s stuffed sunshine and puppies up her arse?”

She frowned at his description, but nodded anyway. “She wants to run a biology class at the academy.”

“That so. And this is relevant to yours truly because…”

She scrunched up her nose in that cute little piglet way of hers. “Well, it’s a vampire biology class,” she said in a quick breath. “So, it would make sense to have a vampire, right? To show the girls. I mean, a lot of them haven’t even seen a real vampire, and definitely not one standing still long enough for them to, uh, study.”

He smirked broadly at her, curling his tongue behind his teeth. “Why, Slayer, are you wanting those little girls to ogle me?”

“Not  _ogle_! You pervert.” She pursed her lips. “It’s like… you’d be like a visual aid. Help them  _get_  it, you know?”

“I can be very helpful,” he agreed with a purr, leaning toward her with predatory purpose.

She licked her lips, and he could hear her heart rate hitch up. “Very,” she agreed breathlessly.

“For the right price,” he finished wickedly, twisting back to dodge her immediately following swat. “Hey, no need for violence, missy. You started this whole scenario. Wouldn’t be good to leave a bloke hanging.”

To his surprise, she pouted. “It’s no fun if you know why I’m doing it.”

He blinked at her. “So it’s better if I think my girl’s just so head over heels that she can’t keep her hands off me?”

“Of course,” she said innocently, rising and heading into the living room, apparently now intent on ignoring him. “Gotta get my kicks with you  _somehow_.”

“Why you…” He narrowed his eyes and shot up from the chair, sending it crashing to the linoleum. With a roar, he grabbed a startled Buffy and flung her over his shoulder.

“What the hell! Put me down!” she demanded, her face pressed against his belt as she flailed angrily.

He smacked her ass roughly, to her indignant squeal, and adjusted her over his shoulder as he steered them toward their bedroom. “Not a chance, pet.”

Buffy kicked him in the kidney for that, but he took it with just a grunt. Flinging the bedroom door shut, he dumped her unceremoniously face-first onto the bed. She scrambled up with fire in her eyes.

“You son of a bitch!”

He grinned at the sharp perfume of her arousal, watching the heavily dilation of her pupils that told him just how much she wanted him, despite her words.

That’d taken them some time to get used to. They were both violent creatures. Needed it for real – the fight and the rush and the looming possibility of death – but they needed it in play, too. Needed to shed all their inhibitions on one another (and, mind you, she had far more to shed than he did – not that he was complaining). Thing was, he didn’t trust a damn thing about his instincts for what was acceptably human once the soul went and burned off. All he knew for sure was safe to go by were her words. And if that wasn’t the most maddening bit to be reduced to, he wasn’t sure what was.

Buffy and words. Stake him now.

One night, to his great disgruntlement, she’d gasped a faux-defiant “no” right in the middle of shagging (to the answer of his growling question “You want this, Slayer? Want this vampire cock fucking you now?”) and he’d immediately slid out of her and away from the bed. She stared at him for a long, supremely annoyed moment before visibly wincing as she realized her mistake.

“Spike, I didn’t mean it.”

“You said no.”

“I know, but…”

“Can’t fucking tell the difference between meaning it or not, Buffy!” He’d punched the wall then. Not his smartest move (and he’d sheepishly patched it the next day). “I can’t…” He stopped, breathless, and snarled in frustration. “You know I can’t take the chance.”

She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, kissing his shoulder. “Shh. I know. I know.” And then after a moment, “Okay, we officially need a new word that means ‘stop.’”

And so, now that word was  _zebra_ , of all things. Buffy’d come up with it on the fly, giving him an arch look at his obvious incredulity.

“What? It’s a word that’ll never come up in our sex life. I think.”

“I bloody well hope not, or else we’ve gotten far off my beaten path of exploits.”

“Eww.”

“Eww? What in Christ’s name are you ‘eww’ing now, Slayer?”

“Beaten path? Really?”

“Oh, sod off. Didn’t mean it that way.” A pause. “Well, actually, now that you mention–”

“Just stop.”

Luckily, he hadn’t heard Buffy even say anything remotely resembling ‘zebra’ since they came up with it. And, truth be told, he’d sort of been testing what he thought were his limits. Just to see.

Hey, soulless vampire and all. And he’d stop as soon as she said to.

Until then, it was just good fun. He grinned at her bright anger as she lifted herself off the bed. “Did you seriously just dump me here like some stupid caveman reenactment?”

“Seemed like the thing to do,” he said easily, prowling toward her.

To his resigned surprise, she went from pissed off to saucy in two seconds flat. And she accused  _him_  of mood changes. She smiled mysteriously at him. “You’ve never met Cave-Buffy.”

He lifted a brow. “Cave-Buffy?”

“Oh, yeah. Pretty much the whole reason Buffy and beer are non-mixy.”

“Ah. Always wondered about that particular dislike.” He paused an inch away from her. “If you were Cave-Buffy then, what might you do with me, luv?”

Buffy shredded his shirt from his chest in answer.

Cave-Buffy earned a special place in his unbeating heart that night. He’d had Buffy more ways than he could count by then, and still never quite that way. She’d ridden his cock with a kind of primal freedom that made him want to bite her until she quivered, her face intent and focused and her brow furrowed, like she was on the hunt. She’d had him fuck her bent over, her hair in a tight, hurting grip as he thrust into her bruisingly from behind and she screamed for more at a volume that had to be getting through even Andrew’s blaring headphones. Best yet, she’d sucked his prick with unbridled fervor, growling, “Cock good. Mine. My vampire. Mine.”

How the fuck could he not love that woman?

Of course, when they’d lain thoroughly shagged out later on, half falling off their bed, Buffy had just looked at him with stern surety and said, “You’re coming to the academy next week.”

So he bloody well went.

Which all led to him currently pacing in the corner of a small lecture hall as a gaggle of super-powered teeny boppers gawked and whispered and giggled in his direction. His own bit of pleasure was that Buffy would look up intermittently from where she was whispering last minute with Maria to glare at them, eyes narrowed as if she knew exactly what they were saying and thinking about. It was a look that said “Keep your paws off my man” better than any vampire mark or growl (although she’d marked him plenty, too. He was pretty sure one of those Cave-Buffy scratches was going to leave a scar). He grinned at her expression, carefully keeping his gaze away from the girls.

They were nice enough chits, although half of them avoided him like the plague when he’d swing by and the other half nearly mauled him. He wasn’t sure which to be more offended by. Oh, wait, no; it was the last, without a bloody doubt. Didn’t these stupid bints recognize a dangerous vampire when they saw one?

He knew they’d all keep their distance if they could hear his thoughts. If they knew how often he casually considered draining one of them dry and stashing her somewhere the others never looked – maybe the men’s loo. But he kept the thoughts as just thoughts, with some effort.

Still, there were entire weeks where he wouldn’t step foot in the building, with the female cycle alignment rubbish they had going on. All the blood and hormones so thick in the air he was pretty sure even precious Angel would go on a rampage, soul or no.

But that was the trick, wasn’t it? To the rest of the world, he was just like Angel (and how that thought made him want to heave). He’d sort of expected that the ruse wouldn’t last more than a few weeks at best; that someone might actually see the differences, or that there might be intermittent tests for the soul-having, for some unknown reason – likely made just to fuck him over.

But all the new Slayers had heard of his exploits. Of his acquisition, as it were. And hardly any of them had known him before; the few that had still hadn’t known him well enough to tell. He was pretty sure Dawn suspected something. He’d say something a bit too careless, or realize he wasn’t flinching at some bit of evil that probably should have had him wincing at minimum, and she’d give him a funny, sideways look. But she never said anything about it. Their friendship wasn’t what it used to be, but it was a sort of friendship again, and that was more than he’d dared hope for. He wasn’t stupid enough to jeopardize it by mentioning a damn thing about the state of his soul.

The real question was why Angel hadn’t spilled the beans. He knew his grandsire was probably gleeful at the prospect of bandying his grandchild’s revoked status around town, making sure the grand Poofter was again known as the only Souled Pompous Prat.

Of course, he was pretty sure he knew the answer to that, and it came in the form of a very sharp phone conversation he’d caught the edges of a few months after they’d arrived in Rome.

“No, I don’t care about your stupid prophecy. If you say  _anything_  about Spike, I will come back over there and make you so freaking  _unhappy_  that you’ll never have to worry about your soul ever again.”

Well, it didn’t take a genius to suss out who was probably on the other end of the line.

“Good,” Buffy said a minute later, after what was probably a boring, wounded Romeo soliloquy by Peaches. A pause, then, “How’s the Fred-shaped person?”

Spike winced, his chest fluttering with pain, something akin to the soul’s emptiness but not quite. It still didn’t feel real, that Fred was gone, lost to some smurf-esque hell god.

Bloody hell god bitches.

He pulled out of his unpleasant thoughts as Maria clapped her hands, somewhat silencing the mass of boisterous bitty Slayers. He mostly tuned her out as she gave an opening lecture, which was just a lot of stupid twaddle about ‘knowing thine enemy’ and getting properly prepared and all that rot. He barely avoided rolling his eyes. Christ, Buffy’d lived – well, sort of – for a long bloody time without even understanding something as basic as the real effect of vamp bites. What the bitty Slayers were getting was spoiled.

They’d never know what it felt like to be the One. His gaze flickered to Buffy, to where she was proudly watching the girls, her chin slightly lifted. Even now, she was the One. Only one that knew the real meaning of sacrifice. Knew what life and death at her fingers felt like. Knew how to dance in the night and not give herself over to it. Faith came close, but she’d never had the fate of the world in her hands, not like Buffy had.

These girls didn’t have a fucking clue.

“Please welcome our special guest, a very infamous vampire: William the Bloody,” Maria said finally, and he threw the woman a disbelieving look. What was this, a bleedin’ talk show? “William here is–”

“Spike,” Spike interrupted, with a growl that he was pleased to see startled some of the closer girls. He moved toward the center of the room with a scowl. “Name is Spike.”

Maria glanced over at him, her bright smile faltering slightly. Fucking finally. He had been half suspecting she’d glued it there. “Uh, yes, sorry.  _Spike_  has been kind enough to join us so that we can talk a little more in-depth about vampire biology and perhaps provide some, uh, demonstrations.”

There was some tittering at that, and Buffy flushed.

“Minds out of the gutters, girls,” was Maria’s sharp reprimand. “Now, we’d like to run this portion as a Q & A. So, whenever you’re ready, Spike, feel free to call on whoever has their hand up.”

Immediately, a dozen hands wiggled into the air.

“Ah. Right.” He eyed them with sudden discomfort. What had happened to being just an athletic visual aid? Wasn’t like he was an expert about biology. Well, the non-gutter parts, anyway. He threw a suspicious look back at Buffy, who gave him an uncertain, apologetic smile, as if saying,  _whoops_.

Bloody hell.

With a creased brow, he called on some little chit in the third row, who bounced to a stand like she’d won the lottery. He lifted his eyes heavenward, then realized that was probably the direction all of his hardship had come from. Wankers. He turned back to the girl.

“Uh, Mr. Spike, I was wondering why the sun burns you?”

Right. One question and he was already stumped. He looked helplessly toward Maria. “Think I’ll let your professor cover that one, ducks.”

Maria nodded, smile firmly back in place. “Excellent question, Rachel. The simple answer is that ultra-violet light is anathemic to vampiric tissue.”

Half a dozen hands popped back in the air. They were like sodding daisies in spring. “But it’s human tissue,” some miss-know-it-all said in confusion.

Maria raised a finger. “Ah. Is it? Vampires are hybrids to the demon world. Their demons need human flesh to possess,” Spike bristled at her phrasing, “but they don’t leave the flesh alone. If it was just a corpse, it would decompose, right?” Maria smiled more widely at the slowly nodding faces of her charges. “So what you must realize is that a vampire isn’t just a demon parading around in a person suit.” She gestured toward Spike, who eyed her warily. “It’s a demon who’s taken the genetic material of the human body and broken it down at a molecular level in order to make it inhabitable.” At her class’s whispers, Maria smiled knowingly. “It is, coincidentally, why vampires turn into dust when they die. Once the demonic essence is flung from the body, it has no real resemblance to a body anymore – all the genetic connections severed. Over time, the form becomes a bit more stable, which is why you sometimes get bones with much older vampires, such as the Master that Miss Summers defeated some time ago.”

Spike blinked in surprise, his respect for the woman begrudgingly ratcheting up a notch. Well, she knew what she was on about, at least. Made him a bit uneasy, though, to wonder how she’d learned all that. Likely his brethren of long ago (or not so long ago) had had some unpleasant deaths, which then got placed in a book of Council holier than thou scholarship, as if it wasn’t all obtained in torture and blood. At least demons were honest about it.

Swallowing sudden dull anger, he nodded to Maria. “Right. What she said,” and called on a slightly older chit in the back.

“Mr. Bloody, can we…” her voice dropped low as her eyes darted about, “can we see your bumpies?”

Bumpies. Christ, Buffy’d corrupted them all with her complete lack of English. Vampires from now until forever were going to be reduced to having  _bumpies_. He grimaced, then shrugged. At least this was something he could actually do. “Sure, poodle.”

Keeping an eye on the room – he didn’t exactly fancy getting staked by some girl with Slayer muscles and an untested panic response – he slowly shifted to his demonic guise. Sensation swelled, all the little staccato pattering of hearts brought to the forefront, his altered eyes tracking every motion of the ambrosial food in front of him. Hunger rose in his gut, bright and insistent, despite the mugs of blood he’d stuffed himself with before coming. Bollocks. Well, he'd endured his fair share of torture – what was a bit more?

There were so many shivers of Slayer and craving in the room that it took him a moment to realize Buffy had come up beside him. Silently, she threaded her fingers through his newly clawed ones, both comforting and restraining.

“Ta, pet.”

Unaware of his inner turmoil, the little Slayers were watching him with wide, fascinated eyes as Maria blathered on.

“Now, see how his facial bones have all thickened? That’s to support the extension of his fangs and provide him with enough strength to bite most effectively. His senses are keener in this form, which is partially why you’ll find fledglings out in this form as they navigate to hunt. Spike, would you mind extending your fangs for the girls to see?”

Spike clenched his jaw, frowning. “Starting to feel like an animal at the zoo,” he muttered lowly, obediently baring his teeth and extending his fangs.

Buffy tightened her grip on his hand. “We can be done, Spike. Just say the word. It’s one of those things at the zoo, too.”

He chuckled, tossing her a quick smile before turning back to his audience. The little Slayer chits were captivated by him. Sighing, he snapped his mouth shut as Maria went on about some other part of his facial anatomy. “No, it’s alright, luv. It’s good for them.”

Eventually, it was back to question time and he picked one of the squealing ones in the front, hoping it’d set her back to simmer before she combusted.

She rose with a blush. “This question is actually for Miss Summers.”

Buffy stared at the girl in surprise, worried embarrassment crossing her face. “Oh. Okay.”

Spike held in a grin. Oh, this was going to be right entertaining, no doubt.

“It’s just, um, do you do it the normal way with a vampire?” The girl turned bright red, but soldiered on as the class started giggling. “Krista said vampires probably can’t  _you know_ , but some of us heard that you’ve done the  _you know_  with Mr. Spike and other vampires and so they’d have to be able to, um, do that.”

Spike snorted, managing to contain a guffaw (barely) as Buffy elbowed him in the ribs. She was as deliciously red as the girl asking the question.

“Okay. So.” Buffy swallowed, her voice clipped as she struggled to contain her discomfort. “You want to know if vampires can– can have sex.” Her face tightened. “And just so we’re clear, there has only been two vampires.  _Two_. And both were not… normal.”

Spike smirked broadly at the class, running hands down his chest with an arched brow. “Not had any complaints so far.”

Buffy gave him a death glare as the girls tittered. “It’s the same, mostly,” she said evenly, between clenched teeth.

He leaned near her ear with a whispered, “Same? Think I’m the only one who knows just how to make you scream, Slayer.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide and the sudden waft of her arousal filtered up to him. He grinned. His naughty girl.

“Right. Um. Okay. I think that’s all the question and answer time for Spike and me.”

And then she practically dragged him out by his lapels into the hallway, blindly shoving him into a mop closet a few doors down.

He stumbled against a contingent of brooms, chuckling and raising a brow as Buffy glared at him with crossed arms under the low bulb light. “Best watch tossing me in with bits of wood, pet, unless you wanna bring a pile of dust back home.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I just might.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Slayer. I’m not the one who asked the bloody question.”

Buffy threw up her hands, starting to pace. “But you’re the one who got all– all  _suggestive_  about it!”

Spike leered at her. “And?”

She pursed her lips, then rolled her eyes. “Right. Should have known Spike plus impressionable girls was a way bad idea.”

He prowled toward her, putting an arm on either side of her head against the door. “Oh, dunno about that, luv. Managed to get you all hot and bothered. And that’s always a good deed in my book.”

Buffy just stared at him for a moment, then the edges of her eyes tightened and she shoved him back against the brooms with full force.

“Oi!” he said more seriously, landing ungracefully against the cleaning supplies. “Have a care with the wood!”

Buffy’s face was intent as she stalked toward him, and he wasn’t sure if she was going to kill him or kiss him. “I’ll care for it just fine,” she said, licking her lips.

Well, that answered that.

He lunged back to his feet, shedding his duster and flinging it against one of the shelves as Buffy attacked his belt, whipping it off with furious intent.

He chuckled as she shoved his jeans down to his knees, effectively immobilizing him as she bent down toward his cock. “Where’s the fire, luv? Least let me strip properly for you.”

Buffy looked back up at him with narrow eyes. “No.”

A thrill went through him. So she wanted to play it this way today, did she? He held out his hands to her, wrists pressed together. When she just stared, brow furrowed, he took pity on her. “My belt, pet.”

Her eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh!” Smiling now, she grabbed the strip of leather and bound his wrists with hurting force. He grunted as it pinched, and she paused. “Too much?”

He grinned at her, his prick swelling even harder with each twinge of pain. “Just right.”

Her face took on a predatory, intent sheen. “Good.” She wrapped her hot little hands around his erection and he groaned, head tilting back despite his best intentions. Her grip turned warning.

“Nu uh. Look at me, vampire.”

His gaze snapped to hers, meeting wicked green eyes. He raised a brow.

“Gotta be a good little visual aid,” she breathed, puffs of warm air from her words bathing his cock.

He inhaled shakily, hands flexing against his binds. “Gonna educate the class are you, Slayer?”

“Oh, yeah,” she murmured, staring hard at his very fortunate and reddening cock as she stroked it with an iron grip. “Show them exactly what sex with an evil, soulless old vampire is like.”

Even so near back as a few months ago, he might’ve felt a twinge of pain (the bad kind) at her words – and she had accordingly been careful to not say them – but they’d at last managed to lay those demons to rest, so to speak. He dropped his bound hands to the top of her head, brushing locks of hair from her face. “Evil vampire who’s at your mercy,” he added with a purr.

“Definitely at my mercy,” Buffy agreed, releasing her tight grip and running a nail along his aching shaft instead, looking immensely pleased when his breath left him in a hiss.

One day, he’d get her confidence up enough to really go full out with the dominatrix act, leather corset and all. He held his breath as she rose from his painfully hardened cock with a fiery gaze.

“Get on your knees.”

Fuck. Definitely a leather corset.

He dropped ungainly to the floor, nearly landing sideways in his tangle of jeans, and looked up at her from underneath his lashes. “How can I assist you, Slayer?”

He watched her light up with his words, a glow of power and pride suffusing her. She was radiant, even in a damn mop closet.

Buffy hitched up her skirt (he’d gotten her to mostly give up on trousers – mostly by routinely destroying them all) and lifted a booted leg onto his shoulder. “I think you need to demonstrate exactly how a demon’s tongue operates.”

He glimpsed under her skirt and groaned. Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ. The minx wasn’t wearing any knickers. “As you wish,” he murmured, grunting in annoyance when he realized he couldn’t leverage well with his hands tied up. Buffy solved his problem by wrapping her hands around the back of his head and thrusting her pussy right against his face. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, he licked her folds from end to end with agonizing slowness, and Buffy whimpered, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“As you can see,” she said shakily, “a vampire’s tongue is very f-flexible and,” he unexpectedly plunged said tongue right into her cunt, making her squeak, “unpredictable!”

He chuckled against her lower lips. “Does my tongue have a mind of its own, then?”

A pause, then, “Did I tell you that you could speak, vampire?”

He grinned. Thatta girl. He swirled his tongue around her clit in reply, groaning slightly as her juices coated his lips and tongue with increased volume. Fuck, but she tasted magnificent. He briefly wondered if all Slayers tasted this good or if he just had the good fortune of loving the one whose pussy taste rivaled her blood. It was a bit of a maddening mystery, but he wasn’t about to test the question. Unsatisfied curiosity seemed like a fair trade to remain undusty and in Buffy’s good graces.

The Slayer in question tightened her fingers in his curls as she gasped against his ministrations, unable to help herself as she thrust against his tongue. “Evil tongue,” she gasped, “doing evil things.”

He couldn’t help himself. “Is that from the official textbook, luv?”

He knew she was far gone when she didn’t even pretend to be angry. She just nodded, keening as he worked her clit in deep, steady swirls. “Uh huh. Should be,” she panted, “in a book.”

He paused only once more. “Glad you think so, kitten.” Then he nipped her clit and she cried out as her orgasm took her, her fingers digging into his scalp and her thighs tightening enough to suffocate a man. Good thing he wasn’t one. He lapped at her vigorously as her muscles clenched and flooded him with moisture.

After a minute, she slowly slid off his shoulder with limp strength. Her eyes were glazed with pleasure but back to looking business-like.

He regarded her calmly, despite his prick being damn painful. “Another biology lesson, pet?”

She nodded slowly as she pushed him down onto his arse and positioned herself over his hips. “Yeah. Wanna know if the evil vampire’s cock is just as evil.”

“Better check to make sure,” he managed hoarsely, eyeing her still-covered body with frustration as she tugged his bound arms above his head. “Might need to get naked to do it properly,” he suggested.  _Or else I’ll rip off your bloody kit with my teeth._

She must have read the unsaid threat in his eyes, or else she was tired of clothes as well. She lifted her shirt up and off with a single, smooth motion and undid her bra a moment later, sending both items to join his duster against the shelves. He couldn’t help but growl as her breasts came into full view, which made her blush so prettily.

“You always get so excited,” she murmured quietly.

He gave her a disbelieving look. “And you’re surprised why? You have a magnificent body. Want to wrap my tongue and fingers around your sweet little tits and suckle them until you beg me to stop. Could bury myself in you ‘til I starve and die a happy bloke. Or just hold you and feel the same way.”

She was quiet a moment, and Spike growled again, flexing seriously against the leather. It would give if he put any real strength against it, but that wasn’t part of the game. And something was bothering his girl. “Buffy. Look at me.”

She did. Her green eyes had gone serious, slightly thoughtful. “Have you ever thought about being with any of the others? The other Slayers, I mean.”

He blinked at her, thinking rapidly. Christ, wondering about other Slayer cunts didn’t count as that, did it? Wasn’t like he gave a flying fuck about whoever the body part was attached to. None of them would be Buffy.

“None of the other girls matter a whit to me, sweetheart. If they’re not you, it’s just a choice between the sodding devil and the sea, yeah?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Huh?”

“You know, that bloody jock Robert Munro and his thirty years war rot. Between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

Buffy stared at him blankly. “ _Huh?_ ”

He rolled his eyes. “Never mind, pet. Just means there’s no good decision. Rock and a hard place and all that.”

Her face cleared and she frowned at him. “Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

He glared at her. “Because I’m not about to let my brains leak from my ears just because a certain Slayer didn’t pay enough attention in bleedin’ secondary school.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. And then she sank down swiftly on his cock in retribution. Bloody marvelous and manipulative bitch that she was.

“Sorry,” she said innocently, swiveling her hips against him, “were you saying something?”

He swallowed a moan, watching her swallow his cock as she rode him, glorious in her proud rebuttal and mischief. “You’re brilliant, Buffy,” he croaked.

She flushed but grinned. “And don't you forget it, vampire.” She thrust down on him in earnest, wringing his cock with her muscles each time she bore down, squeezing every inch of him so hard it hurt in the most magnificent way. But that was his Slayer. Even when she shredded him to tatters, she did it well. But then, the last couple years had seen the opposite as well, a side of her she’d never put on before he went and about killed himself for a soul. And if that was his only reward for all the trial and insanity and his eventual (if impermanent) demise and subsequent loss of soul, well, he’d do it a hundred times over.

“God, I love you,” he gasped. And then, “Fuck, gotta touch you.” He broke the belt with a loud snap and grabbed his startled Slayer around the waist, pulling her beneath him as she laughed.

“Surprised you held out this long,” she managed between kisses, whimpering as his fingers found her clit, and wrapping her legs around his waist in welcome as he fucked her into the mop room floor.

“I’ll have you know, I have restraint when I want to,” he told her roughly, without anger, pinching her nipples and listening to her blissed cry.

“Which,” she said between breaths as he plunged mercilessly into her, “body part is that from?”

He rumbled a low laugh. “Still having class, are we?”

“Uh huh.”

Then another of Buffy’s orgasms ripped through her, milking his cock with heavenly skill, and he lost all of his self-proclaimed restraint, roaring and hammering against her until his balls tightened and his own release exploded through him. His demon cut through and he had his fangs into her shoulder before he could think, drawing a mouthful of blood that at last quenched the hunger in his gut. Beneath him, Buffy gasped out another orgasm and then collapsed against the floor. He withdrew his fangs, tracing her collarbone with a line of gentle kisses.

“Just my unbeating heart, luv,” he murmured. “It’s not good for much, but it’s got that going for it.”

Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut against his attention, her mouth curving into a relaxed smile. “That’s a lot.”

He smiled against her skin. “Successful class then, Slayer?”

“Mmm.” Her eyes flicked open. “I learned a lot.” A sudden line of worry creased her brow. “Um. What do you think the chances are that someone heard us?”

He glanced at the walls around them. Shoddily insulated, at best. “With the racket we made? Gonna say they’re about the same as the only legged man in an arse kicking contest.”

That earned him an eye roll, which was quickly followed by a wince. “Crap.”

“Don’t fret, luv. Can just say you were following up on that last chit’s question.” He smirked at her. “Bit of hands-on research.”

She moaned and covered her face with said hands. “I’m such a bad example. The girls are going to start thinking it’s okay to go after vampires for dates.”

Now, wasn’t that a picture? He chuckled. “Think that might be as terrifying to some poor fledge as a stake. If some hormonal little Slayer bird had chased after me with lust in her eyes way back when, I’d have legged it faster than you could’ve said ‘pear shaped.’”

Buffy uncovered her eyes suspiciously. “I seem to recall some little fact about William the Bloody  _seeking out_  Slayers.”

“To kill, not shag! Had some self-respect, didn’t I? Well, once upon a time.”

Buffy made an offended noise and punched his shoulder. “You are such an ass!”

He chuckled at her. “No need to be insulted over an evil vampire’s idea of self-respect, pet. Was proud of loads of things that turn my stomach a bit these days.”

Even though he wasn’t as sorry for it anymore, didn’t feel the weight of death and agony piercing him with merciless blades, he still didn’t care anymore for what he’d been – some mix of Dru’s lapdog and Angelus’s failed pupil and his own fucked up brand of pissed off and lonely. And now, still, the idea that he might do anything to cause any of his girls pain by doing something so stupid as killing or letting some innocent get killed about froze him with terror.

“Best thing that ever happened to me was finding you,” he said softly, and watched Buffy’s eyes turn gentle.

She looked at him wryly. “I thought you were the worst thing that happened to me. For  _years_.”

“Yeah, well join the club, pet. Didn’t keep though.”

She ran a finger across his left cheekbone, the warmth and lightness of her touch making him shiver. “No, but way longer for me than you.”

“Well, you’re an infurtiatingly stubborn bint.”

Buffy snorted. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“I'm far from a bint,” he said with a suggestive leer, which earned him another eye roll. He paused. “Should probably make our way out of the closet, yeah?”

Buffy groaned. “But they all  _heard_. I don’t wanna.”

He stilled, head tilted as he bent his senses to listen. Nothing but the slight patter of heartbeats down the way; not a soul near their impromptu shagging locale. “Well, seems both the morality police and the pitchfork wielding mob are running a tad behind. We can scamper off with your non-existent virtue still intact.”

Buffy stuck out her lower lip. “You’re making fun of me.”

“One of my favorite pastimes,” he confirmed shamelessly, lifting himself up and off her despite the complaint of the raging erection he found himself sporting yet again – one of the best and sometimes most inconvenient side effects of Buffy’s blood. As if he didn’t struggle enough with keeping blood flowing in the northerly direction. He tussled himself back into his jeans, forcing the zipper past his rebellious stiffy with a sigh.

“Seems if anyone needs to be worried, Slayer, it’s me,” he said pointedly, gesturing down at his jeans and the very noticeable bulge there. Thank god his duster would hide the most of it.

Buffy just gave him a very unsympathetic look. “You’re the one who bit  _me_ , mister.”

“Yeah, yeah, blame the vamp,” he grumbled.

“You’re the one with fangs.”

“You’re the one who’s so damn biteable.”

Buffy laughed and kissed his cheek. “Just what a Slayer wants to hear, honey.”

His leering expression faded into an idiotically pleased, lop-sided smile as warmth tingled through him.

Buffy raised a brow. “What?”

“You called me ‘honey.’”

She looked suddenly uncomfortable, turning away to straighten her skirt. “Oh. I guess I did.”

His sudden elation fell into confused worry. Oh hell, what’d he done now? Wasn’t like they weren’t openly a couple, and she never seemed bothered by bestowing him with affection anymore, though she tamped it down around the Bit. And they’d just shagged marvelously in her school’s broom closet, for fuck’s sake – the first time she’d let him do anything like that at her workplace. Why the cold shoulder with a pet name? He sighed. “Gotta help me out here, Buffy.”

“What are you talking about?” She didn’t turn around.

He pulled on his duster and then very firmly took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. Her chin was down, looking at his chest, and he nearly laughed at her stubbornness. Sighing, he lifted her face to meet him. “What’s this about?” he asked softly. “It’s alright if you don’t like calling me pet names.” He grimaced. “You know I’ll answer to about anything you call me.”

That earned him a small smile and she rose up slightly on her toes to kiss him on the mouth. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said, still baffled. “Gonna fill me in sometime before the end of the century?”

She shrugged, pulling away to pry the closet door open, peeking out warily and opening it when the coast was apparently clear. “It’s just weird, okay?”

He followed her out into the hall, glad when she took his hand. Still hard to believe somedays, that she initiated that kind of contact now. “What’s weird, pet?”

“Calling you something like that. It’s like…” She stopped, biting her lip, her gaze determinedly burning a hole into some lockers down the way. “It’s all… marriage-y.”

Oh, bloody hell.

He forced his voice light even as his stomach sank. “Can’t marry a dead man, luv.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, whisper-quiet.

Amazing how so soft a voice could pack such a wallop. But then, Buffy always knew best how to rip him right across all his most tender parts. He snatched his hand away and strode toward the shaded side door, where Buffy’d parked the car. There was a sewer grate nearby, too, and that suddenly seemed like the far better option. “Right. Got it loud and clear, Slayer.”

And fucking hell, those were  _not_  tears in his eyes. He growled in frustration and picked up his pace, flinging open the doors.

From behind him, he heard Buffy’s startled, “Spike, wait!”

He didn’t. “See you at the flat,” he bit out as he tumbled down into the grate hole.

Then he ran, darkness comfortingly taking him, keeping him from having to see how – after everything – he still wasn’t enough for her. He thought they’d gotten past his bit of lost humanity, but seemed that was only conditional. And one day she’d toss him aside for good, deciding to give Joe Normal or the Souled Poof another go. The idea of it made him to want to kill everything in sight, so it was a damn good thing there was nothing around but him and rats.

So lost in his thoughts, it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize there were footsteps hot on his heels. The realization had no more than hit his brain when his body was equally plowed into by something warm and furious and blonde.

“You stupid idiot!” Buffy railed at him, the lapels of his duster captured in her unforgiving grip.

He snarled at her, attempting to shove her off, but got nowhere. Buffy had him locked in a Slayer's grip. “Get off of me, you bloody bitch!”

“No.” Her face was pale in the near dark and immensely worried. Well, too sodding bad.

He glared at her. “Not playing this game right now, Slayer. Get. Off.”

He’d fight her if he had to. They tried not to fight in anger anymore, treading that invisible line between the okay sort of violence and the not. But right now every bit of him was clawing to get away, to escape from the woman who had stomped on his heart time and time again and was apparently itching to do so once more.

She must’ve known his thoughts. Her grip on his leather didn’t drop, but she bent down and kissed him – warm and fierce and hurting. He didn’t respond for a long moment, but then she cheated and bit his bottom lip until it bled and he returned the gesture with a strangled groan. When she finally released his mouth, both of them panting and bleeding, he swallowed and turned his head away to stare at the dark cement of the sewer wall.

“Back to using that so we don’t have to care about feelings, are we?”

He felt her trembling above him. “No,” she whispered. “No, never again.” Her voice grew stronger. “I just needed you to shut up and stay still for two seconds so we can talk.”

Finally, she released him. He rose with a shrug, fumbling for his lighter and a cigarette, and striking the butt ablaze. He concentrated all his attention on the burning ember near the edge of his vision as he inhaled. “Alright. So talk.”

There was quiet for a long stretch, so long he didn’t think she was going to speak after all, and he nearly stomped away in disgust.

“I don’t want to get married,” she said finally, arms crossed protectively across her torso as she stared at the ground. “To  _anyone_. All I can think about when people say it is listening to mom cry because dad decided he’d rather screw his secretaries than come home to his wife and daughters.” She paused. “Um, daughter, I guess, since Dawn wasn’t… Well, whatever. Marriage equals much badness in the Buffy brain. I know it’s not fair, but… that’s how it is.”

Spike flicked the cigarette away, righteous fury enveloping him toward the bastard who caused his Summers women so much pain. Who left Joyce with such a hard road, and the Niblet and Buffy with abandonment and relationship issues a mile wide. “Your dad was a barmy git and should be throttled.”

Buffy finally looked at him, a small smile quirking her lips. “Probably.” She took a deep breath and stepped closer, nimbly avoiding some pile of muck. “But, Spike, it doesn’t… doesn’t mean I don’t want you. You get that, right?”

He sighed. “Yeah, luv, I get it. Shouldn’t have… well, just took it the wrong way. Thought…” He clenched his jaw. “Thought that was your way of saying you’d eventually shove me off.”

Her expression turned a bit sad. “Well, I’ve given you plenty of reasons to think that over the years.”

“Know I’m not good enough for you, Buffy. Known that forever.”

She huffed at him in clear exasperation. “You saved the world and sacrificed yourself – and your soul – for me. I’d say that more than makes you ‘good enough,’ you idiot. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled through him. “Glad to know ‘thick-skulled idiot’ is good enough.”

Buffy reached him, her eyes soft. “Well, you’re  _my_  thick-skulled idiot. That makes you better than the others.”

A poncy smile bloomed on his lips. God, but he was an utterly pathetic excuse for a demon these days. “Glad you think so.”

Buffy tugged on his hand. “C’mon, let’s get back to the car. We’re already late for picking up dinner, and I really don’t want to deal with Andrew’s whining.”

Spike grimaced. The tosser’s whining was just short of being worse than his dodgy fawning. “We really need to get our own flat, Slayer.”

“I know.” A pause. “We’ll start looking this weekend?”

“This weekend,” he agreed, pulling her closer, his arm around her waist. He bent down to nuzzle her ear. “Besides, been looking forward to a new place. Thinking every room will need a  _very_  thorough christening.”

A shiver ran through her and he heard her heartbeat start to race. “Mmm. That sounds nice. Maybe you can give me a small preview of that tonight?”

He followed her up the small ladder to the grate, toward car and dinner and their over-crowded flat. Twenty years ago, he’d have sneered at the idea of such familial, human normalcy, and laughed uproariously if anyone told him he’d be ecstatic about being a part of it. Him of twenty years ago was an imbecile. “Count on it.”


End file.
